Blood is Thicker Than Water
by supernaturalgrl
Summary: Wincest. First time. Dean goes missing.
1. Chapter 1

Blood is Thicker Than Water

by

Supernaturalgrl

Dean was missing.

He'd decided to take a break from things when he and Sam got into a fight over, of all things, the best way to organize the weapons hold in the Impala. Blaming it on no rest and too-close quarters, Dean told Sam he was going to Missouri to see Cassie, alone.

"I'll be back in a couple of weeks," he said to Sam matter-of-factly.

"A couple of weeks?" Sam repeated incredulously. "And what the hell am I supposed to do for two weeks, Dean?" he asked angrily.

"Whatever you want, man, I don't care. Why don't you take a bus down to Palo Alto, see some friends, go visit..." Dean broke off without saying "Jessica's grave".

Sam glared at him furiously. "Friends? Are you fucking KIDDING me? Don't make me laugh, Dean! Thanks to you and your advice, I don't have any friends anymore! I cut those people out of my life almost a year ago!" Sam punched the wall in a fit of anger, punctuating his statement, splitting the cheap wallboard in the process.

Dean glared back, grabbing his duffle, heading to the Impala.

"I'm going, Sam. If you want anything from the car, you'd better come and get it now."

Following Dean outside, Sam took a few deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down.

"Look man, let's not do this. Let me come with you. I still have one friend. I'll take a bus north from Cape Girardeau to St. Louis. I can visit Rebecca," Sam said, looking hopefully at his brother.

Sighing deeply, rubbing his face in a rough and aggravated manner, Dean looked at Sam, half pissed, half pityingly.

"Can't you understand Sam? We are getting on each other's nerves. I wanted to knock the shit out of you man. Do you think I want to do that again? I felt bad enough the last time. But this has been coming on for weeks now. I need some space, and so do you. I don't want this to get so bad that we end up hating each other."

He couldn't give voice to the other reason that he needed to distance himself from Sam right then. He'd never tell him that truth, because if he did, Sam would definitely make a break for it, for good this time. Dean's thinking was that if he could go away for a while, his unnatural feelings of love for his brother would go away as well. That maybe, seeing Cassie again would abolish his constant thoughts of Sam. Thoughts of how smart he was, how friendly and kind he could be, how sexy and beautiful he was when he watched him sleep. He needed to forget Sam's scent, a mixture of a musky smelling soap and American Crew shampoo, of peppermint flavored Burt's Bees lip balm. Dean grinned slightly at the hell he gave Sammy for using lip balm all the time. "Dude, you are SO gay!" he'd tell him. Look who was talking, he thought ruefully.

"Dean..." Sam began, pleading with him.

"No Sam. It has to be this way," Dean said, not looking at him.

"You're not coming back, are you?" Sam asked in a small voice, thinking painfully how their places had switched. Now Sam was the one afraid of being left alone, and Dean needed to escape.

Dean's heart clenched tightly at hearing the hurt and fear in his little brother's voice. He almost gave in, but thought of how much more he could hurt Sam if he did. He was resolute, knowing that in the end, this was all for Sam's sake.

"Of course I'm coming back Sam. Why wouldn't I? You and I, we have a job to do. I just need-"

"A break," Sam cut in, "yeah, whatever," he finished, not convinced in the least. He'd lost so much in the last year. He didn't want to think about losing the one person he had left, the only person he'd ever been able to count on. He knew he wouldn't make it if he lost Dean, too. But he was through arguing with him, and he was not going to beg. If this was what Dean needed, he had to give it to him. With those thoughts in mind, he went to the back of the car. He chose a sawed-off shotgun, a pistol, and the Bowie knife his father had given him after his first hunt, as well as ammo for the guns.

Dean threw his things in the trunk when Sam finished, closing it with finality.

"I'm gonna stay here," Sam told him. "Just do me a favor, will you?"

"What's that?" Dean asked.

"Will you call or text once in a while? Just so I know things are cool?" Sam's eyes watered slightly.

Dean pulled a face at this girly request, but seeing that Sam was practically in tears, he agreed.

"Ok Sammy," he said as he slid behind the wheel. "I'll keep in touch."

Sam reached out toward Dean, but pulled back at the last second.

Seeing this, Dean looked up at him and said "I'm sorry Sam. I just think this is for the best. You're..." he began, searching for the right words. "You're my best friend, not just my brother. I don't want us to..."

Sam cut him off.

"Dean, you don't solve problems by running away. I'm living proof of that. In the end, this will accomplish nothing. Whatever is bothering you, me, us, will still be here when you get back. Why can't we talk about it?"

Dean was silent, staring out the windshield .

"Oh, that's right, the great Dean Winchester, nobody's fool. You don't share, you don't talk, you don't DO chick flick moments!" Sam snarked sarcastically.

Eyes full of shame and sadness, Dean simply looked at Sam and said "I'll see you in a couple weeks. Take care of yourself Sammy."

"Yeah, you too DEANO, it's what you're best at," Sam spat at him, turning and storming back to the room.

That was over three weeks ago. Sam was now practically insane with fear, worry and anger. He'd slept so little during the last week that his exhaustion was beginning to show.

When Dean didn't return in the promised two weeks, Sam called Cassie to ask if he was still with her. Come to find out, Dean never made it to Cape Girardeau.

"He never made it?" Sam asked her worriedly.

"No Sam. I didn't even know he was planning on coming here," Cassie told him.

"This isn't good," Sam said.

"Sam, you're scaring me. When did you last hear from him?" she asked.

"About three days after he left California. He was in Colorado. That was a little over two weeks ago."

"And you're just now calling to check on him? she asked, voice rising to a near scream.

"Hey!" Sam yelled back at her. "He was fine! And we made an agreement. HE would call or text ME. It's not unusual for him to be like this, that's just Dean's way. I was surprised to hear from him after only three days, to tell you the truth."

Tired of having to explain anything to her, he said "Look, I gotta go. I have to find him."

"Sam?" Cassie said in a worried voice.

"Yeah?"

"Please let me know that he's ok when you find him."

"Sure, ok. Goodbye, Cassie." And he disconnected the call without waiting for her to say anything more.

Sam had never really liked Cassie. He only told Dean that he did so that his brother wouldn't feel obligated to cut someone he loved from his life. The fact that she just yelled at him didn't help matters, especially when he already felt like he'd fucked up by not trying to contact Dean sooner. But be that as it may, he decided that Cassie could kiss his ass. Dean was too good for such a high maintenance bitch anyway.

Sam stood in the lot of a small used car dealership, looking at what was left of an old Ford Fairmont. The "classic" 80's family sedan had seen better days, but an old beater was the best he could afford. He'd toyed with the idea of stealing a car that was in much better shape, but he didn't want to risk getting caught anywhere along his route to find Dean.

In order to scrounge up cash, Sam visited ATMs in several small towns, using five different credit cards and maxing them out for their available balances in cash. That netted him $475. The only thing of value he had on him was his class ring from Stanford, which had been a gift from Jessica. She'd waited tables for eighteen months, saving every tip for that ring. It was part of his past now, though, the broken promise of a future that no longer existed for him. So he sold it for $75 to a greedy pawn shop owner with only the smallest of regrets. It was the last remnant of his old life, the final goodbye to his one-time love.

Sam was able to get the salesman down to $350 out the door for the Ford P.O.S. He was on the road ten minutes later.

When Dean had called Sam from the road, he was in Durango, Colorado. Their conversation had been brief and strained, but Sam was relieved to hear from him anyway.

"Guess you'll roll into Missouri tomorrow then?" Sam had asked him.

"Yeah, I should," Dean responded.

They were silent for a few seconds, then Dean said "Well look dude, I'm gonna bail. I need food."

"Yeah, sure. Look, be careful, ok?" Sam said.

"I'm cool man. Don't sweat it. Later." And he was gone.

As Sam crossed the border from Cali into Nevada not far outside of Benton, he thought of how much he missed Dean's crappy classic rock, and what he wouldn't give to have him there now, arguing over whether it was Sam's turn to listen to the radio or Dean's turn to blast Motorhead or some other archaic and heinous relic of a bygone era. He found himself regrettng all the times he'd taken Dean for granted, thinking he'd always be there by his side, ribbing him, sniping at him, making stupid jokes. He'd counted on Dean being there, never once considering that something could happen to him, or that something could take him from him.

A lone tear traced a path down Sam's cheek. He found himself extremely self-concious of it, quickly wiping it away. He really didn't want to examine the emotions that were coming up with all these thoughts of his brother. He knew he was feeling something new, something previously unspoken, but he didn't want to visit it right then. He wanted to concentrate on finding Dean, and he wanted nothing to get in the way of that task.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Waves of guilt crashed over Dean as he pulled away from the motel. He watched in the rearview mirror as Sam stopped at the door to the room and turned to watch him leave. Sam had no way of knowing, of course, but Dean had absolutely no intention of going to see Cassie. She was part of his past, a past he no longer pined over. He only told Sam that he was going there so that he could get away without any problems, because Sam didn't like Cassie, no matter what he'd told Dean before. Dean saw it in his eyes.

He was torn. Torn with the knowledge that he had to leave to protect Sam from himself, and with wanting to go back, run to him, pull him into his arms and promise never to leave him again. But he knew he had to do this. It was his responsibility, as it always had been, to look out for Sammy, even if, especially if, the danger to him was Dean. He couldn't erase the vision of the hurt he'd seen on Sam's face, in his eyes. Dean never wanted to be the cause of any pain for Sam, and knowing he'd done exactly that was killing him. He felt like he was being ripped apart at the seams.

Thinking noise would help clear his mind, Dean grabbed a tape and thrust it into the deck. It was Motorhead. Sam hated them most of all. Every time Dean put this tape on, Sam would...and there he was, thinking about his brother again. He popped out the tape and tossed it out the window.

For every mile Dean drove, he thought ten times about turning back. He loved Sam so much, and that thought tormented him, probably would until the day he drew his last breath.

Before he realized it, he'd gone three hundred miles and needed to stop for gas. It was twilight now, and he was in the middle of Nowheresville, Nevada. After a few more miles, he saw a weather-beaten billboard advertising a mom and pop gas station: "Left at exit 312, then 5 miles." Hmm, off the highway a bit, aren't we? he said to no one.

Ever prepared, Dean made sure his pistol was locked and loaded before he got out of the Impala. The station was modeled after an old time general store, but it was run down and ramshackle, paint peeling, shutters falling off the building, its sign hanging low on one side.

As he exited the car, a hot wind blew up, swirling around him. He found it strange that none of the desert dust was carried with it, but the thought was chased from his mind when he saw that the gas pump had a pad lock on it. Looking to the broad windows that fronted the place, he noted that the lights were on, and he saw an old man staring out at him. Dean nodded at the old guy, who nodded back, grabbed a set of keys and headed toward the door. Dean climbed the few steps to the porch of the place.

"How 'do?" the proprietor asked in an uninterested tone.

"I'm ok, you?" Dean responded.

"You fillin' up boy?" The old man gave Dean a rather suspicious stare.

"Uh, yeah, I'm headed--"

"No need," the old fart cut him off. "Cash up front, we don't take credit cards or travelers cheques."

Dean handed him a fifty and took the keys from him.

"Don't spill the fuel. Lock the pump when you finish, and bring the keys back inside," said the man matter of factly.

Dean nodded curtly and headed back to the pumps, muttering "crochety old bastard" along the way.

He unlocked the pump and shoved the hose into the tank, setting the handle to the locked position so that he didn't have to hold on to it. Dean leaned back against the trunk of the Impala, hands in his pockets, eyes closed. He sighed deeply, wishing he could find a way to rid his mind of the events of the last several days. Just then, the wind swirled up around him again. As it caressed him, he heard a faint sigh, and then a whispered "Dean". Moving off of the car in surprise, he looked around for the source of the voice. He saw nothing, no one. Again, he heard a voice whisper his name, and felt a light touch moved down one side of his face. Slightly rattled, he reached for the pump handle just as it clicked off, indicating that the tank was full.

Walking back to the store, Dean swore he could feel eyes on him, could feel the wind following him. He fingered the amulet that hung from his neck.

Once inside, he rather quickly selected something to eat and drink, wanting to leave the place as fast as he could. At the register, he handed the old man the keys to the pump, told him to keep the change, then headed for his car.

After Dean made it back to the highway, he began to think he'd imagined it all and chastised himself for being spooked by it, even if it was real. He had never been a coward, and his reaction pissed him off. But his emotions were raw from his conflict with Sammy, and he was tired. Yeah, I imagined it, he thought. Then he saw her. A pale, willowy woman at the side of the road. As he passed her, he heard the sigh and whisper of his name again. When he looked in the rearview, she was gone. Under other circumstances, he would have turned the situation into a hunt, but for now he just wanted to put some distance between himself and Twilight Zone, Nevada.

Fourteen hours and several hundred miles later, Dean was coming up on Druango, Colorado. There had been no more whispers, no strange women on the roadside.

He was tired and emotionally worn out, not to mention starving. It was pretty early in the morning, though, and all the small motels he passed had NO VACANCY showing in their windows. Figures, he thought.

He pulled over to think for a minute. The first thought that came to his mind was of Sam. He'd promised to keep in touch. Dean never broke a promise to Sam, so he pulled out his cell and dialed his brother. The conversation was short. He didn't want to get into it with Sam again, so he said little to him, getting off the phone s soon as he was able.

Moving on into the town, he found a diner and pulled in for some breakfast. The Miner's Diner, as it was called, seemed to be the only place open. It looked empty, only one car in the lot. Not promising as those things go. A crowd would have meant that they had great food.

Oh well, he thought, and dragged himself from the car.

The bell on the door tinkled when Dean walked inside. There was no one up front, but he could see the cook moving around in the kitchen. He chose a booth along the wall that faced the door, but also gave him a view of the back. The hunter in him never rested, always keeping his eyes open for trouble to come from any direction.

Dean turned his cup up and grabbed the menu. He could smell fresh coffee, and the food, well, it actually smelled great. He was ravenous, having not eaten since getting gas in Weirdo, Nevada.

"Hello, there," a woman's husky voice spoke. He looked up from the menu as she poured his coffee. "Cream?" she asked.

Dean just stared at her, captivated. She was simply mesmerizing. He long dark hair hung in ringlets to her waist, and her eyes were damn near violet. Her cupids-bow mouth was cherry red, and currently it was smiling very knowingly at him.

"Uh, I'm sorry, did you say something?" he asked her.

Chuckling in a low, sultry way, she repeated "Cream?"

"Oh, uh, no. I'll take it black, thanks."

"Ready to order?" she asked him, giving him a long, slow once over, undressing him with her eyes.

Dean found himself unnerved and very self-concious in the glare of this woman's obvious appraisal of him. He wasn't used to feeling this way, either. Normally, he dripped confidence in any situation, especially one involving a woman. But this woman...she had him practically spellbound.

"Yeah," he said. "Gimme three eggs over easy, bacon, sausage, and an order of pancakes."

"Wow, you're really hungry there, aren't ya cowboy?" she asked him. "I'll have it for you in ten," she told him as she turned and walked away, her ass swaying suggestively in the process.

Dean watched her go. After a minute, it was like a fog cleared from his brain. He shook his head, having forgotten about her already. Then his thoughts returned to his brother, his Sammy.

TBC


End file.
